


White Rooms

by lilacsigil



Category: Daredevil (Comics)
Genre: Character Death Fix, Gen, Mental Institutions, Mind Control, Prison, Resurrection, background rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 01:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17013306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsigil/pseuds/lilacsigil
Summary: Karen Page, resurrected by Elektra, withdraws from the world until she learns of Milla Donovan's fate at the hands of Mr Fear.





	White Rooms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elizabeth Culmer (edenfalling)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenfalling/gifts).



> Refers to Daredevil vol. 1 364-367, vol. 2 95-105.

At first Karen thought she must be in hospital. Everything was white and hazy, and she was dressed in a loose white robe, though it closed at the front rather than at the back. Maybe because of her injury, she thought. Her bandaged chest hurt like hell, and there was some smelly, oily medicine on her skin underneath, but that didn't surprise her. Matt's club had struck her right there on her sternum; that fucker Bullseye probably thought it was hilarious to hit a woman right between the breasts. She could remember him laughing, and gasping for breath, then Matt's quiet voice, then nothing. 

Her vision slowly cleared and she peered at her surroundings, far too sore to try sitting up yet. Weirdly, she was on a raised platform rather than a bed, and instead of the linoleum floor there was smooth stone. The walls were white, but draped with cloth rather than painted. Karen groaned. This wasn't a hospital. This was some weird temple. Matt had taken her to K'un L'un or somewhere. Danny Rand was probably involved. That was exactly what she didn't need. 

The annoyance galvanised her into action. She pushed herself up on her elbows, which was not quite as painful as she expected, and sat up. Now that she was looking closer, the bandages were long strips of white cotton, not proper bandages. It was probably some herbal concoction on her chest. Karen had a sudden vision of Matt and Danny solemnly chewing herbs and spitting them into a sacred bowl, and giggled, but that really did hurt. Regardless, she had to find someone and see where on earth she was. She sincerely hoped it wasn't going to be a trek through the Himalayas to get out of here.

Legs swung around and gingerly placed on the ground, Karen pushed up to her feet with another groan. Bullseye had hit her hard. She hoped her sternum wasn't broken; she knew a woman who had been resuscitated after an OD and hers was broken so badly that she had never been able to work again. Not that Karen wanted that kind of work anymore, ever, but she knew it was a bad injury. She concentrated on her breathing: definitely painful, especially on the left front so there must be broken ribs too, but her lungs expanded and contracted without a hitch. Okay. Good. Whatever this place was, it was at least helping her heal. 

"Matt?" she called out, but her voice was weak and raspy. She hoped that wouldn't last: nobody would find that comforting on their radio in the middle of the night. 

"Not exactly the person you were hoping for," came a voice, a female voice with a slight accent. Karen recognised it immediately: Elektra.

"Elektra? Why are you here? What is this place?"

The woman in question strolled in. She was no taller than Karen, but there was an air of power around her that made her seem to tower over everyone. She was barefoot, and dressed in a plain white karate uniform. Even her belt was white, and her long dark hair was tied up in a white scarf. 

"Sit down, Karen Page. You will need to regain your strength."

"I'm not doing anything until you tell me where I am."

Elektra knelt in front of Karen, much to her surprise. 

"First, I hope you might forgive me. You died."

"I – " Karen was struck dumb. "He killed me?"

"Yes. It's a particular thrill for him. You saved Matthew and you died."

Karen backed away from Elektra and found herself leaning against the platform where she had awoken. She sat down on the floor, suddenly drained. "Matt said that you were dead, then you weren't, but he was vague about it."

"That's because he has not learned the ritual. Life must be poured into your body according to the rituals of the Hand."

"The Hand? Those ninja assholes?"

"Yes. I joined them at one stage, trying to turn them to good." Elektra bowed her head. "I failed entirely, and instead they corrupted me. It has been a very difficult road, and that is why I am begging your forgiveness."

"Please, get up. I can't have a normal conversation with you this way."

Elektra did so, sitting beside Karen leaning against the platform. Her irises were so dark they looked black. "Life has been poured into your body. I want you to understand what that means. The Hand – and many others – treat life as a commodity. They trade it around from person to person, feed it to their little gods, take it from one person and feed it into another."

"And this is what happened to you?" Karen had spent a lot of time getting stories out of people who were frightened, bewildered or flat-out crazy, so she was finding Elektra relatively forthcoming, considering the circumstances.

"Not exactly. I thought it was, but it turned out that a member of a group called the Chaste, who oppose the Hand, gave his life willingly to bring me back. I think – I think that's why I was not drawn to their evil again. Why I could be free."

Karen was horrified. "Did someone sacrifice their life for me?" It sounded like the kind of thing Matt would do, given half a chance.

"No, that's not what happened."

"Did you kill someone?"

"Yes." She waved her hand dismissively. "I'm not sorry about that, though."

"You probably should be! I didn't ask you for this! Give them their lives back!"

Elektra frowned. "No. They were bad people."

"They? More than one? You killed multiple people for me?"

"Very bad people! A wife-murderer and a vicious paedophile! I knew you wouldn't accept anything else. But no, we cannot bring them back. Their lives are in you."

"Wait, what does that mean?" Karen was suddenly very interested in Elektra's explanation of how this worked.

"As I said, the Hand think life is a simple commodity, but they're wrong. Every life is unique, and has its own associations and tendencies. Corrupt and evil lives bring corruption and evil."

Karen rested her head in her hands. "So you're not only saying that you murdered two people, you're saying that you specifically murdered evil people and then you put their evil in me?"

"Yes, that's exactly it." Elektra's face returned to serenity. She really reminded her of Matt at his weirdest, to be honest. "I truly hope that your strength turns that energy to good. But it is not without risk and that, after resurrecting you in the first place, is why I ask your forgiveness."

With a sigh, Karen put her hand over Elektra's. "Well, I wouldn't be here to forgive you otherwise, would I? You're forgiven."

"Thank you." 

Karen was surprised to see tears standing in Elektra's eyes, though they were quickly blinked away. 

"I'm going to take a nap," Karen told her. "And when I wake up, you're going to explain to me exactly what this means."

Elektra nodded, and helped Karen onto the platform with her strong hands. "I will try to help."

When Karen awoke, Elektra returned with two bowls of plain rice. 

"Here. You can't eat anything complex, yet, but this is a good place to start."

"You're worried I'll suddenly start murdering and raping if I eat something too spicy?" Karen asked, with a bitter twist of her mouth. Elektra had been completely correct that Karen was pleased that those men were gone from the world, and that made Karen angry. With herself, not with Elektra. And then she started to second-guess her anger, and that made her even more angry.

Elektra handed her the bowl. "There are many different schools of thought on how best to channel this kind of poison. I didn't say I had resurrected you to a life of ease and comfort."

"I didn't have that before." Karen shook her head. "But at least I knew my decisions were mine."

"All of them?"

"Yes. I know that addiction is an illness, but it's an illness I chose because I thought it was better than the life I was living. What am I supposed to choose now?" She took the chopsticks and started to eat the rice. It was extremely complex in flavour, something she'd never expected of plain rice.

"Your tastebuds are fresh," Elektra commented, watching her eat. "It's a very odd feeling, but it doesn't last."

"Good. If I ate something spicy I think my tongue would melt. Hey, is this what it's like for Matt all the time?"

"I suppose so, but he must have become accustomed to more varied tastes over time. I've seen him eat wasabi."

"Ha, me too, just a little dab." Karen's smile dropped. "What am I going to tell Matt? What did you?"

"Whether or not you return to your old life is up to you. I won't tell anyone. That's your decision. And I have money to set you up wherever you want."

Karen put the empty rice bowl down and hugged herself, gently, because her chest still hurt. "What do you think I should do?"

"I think you should not decide until you're well. It is very difficult to make good decisions while your body is screaming at you to hide and protect yourself."

"Yeah, you're right." Karen smiled at her. "Are we somewhere where I can go outside? Or are we in the Himalayas and I'll be blown off the mountain?"

"We’re in Greece, actually. It's not a big island, but there is a garden, and some cats."

Karen's face lit up. "Cats? You have cats?"

"No, they belong to the island. But I do enjoy their company."

Karen took Elektra's arm and they walked slowly outside into the sunlight. It was very bright and the sky was pale blue above them. Karen wondered how she hadn't recognised the salt and rot of the sea before. The garden was small and rocky, but Karen immediately spotted three cats out and basking.

"Can I pet them?" 

"How you interact with the cats is entirely up to you and them."

Karen carefully lowered herself down to sit on a flat, warm rock that already had a wiry black cat on it. The cat allowed her presence and she reached out a tentative hand to stroke down the cat's sun-warmed side. It stretched out long and flat, and licked at its own shoulder, but wriggled a little closer to her hand.

Without warning, she had a very visceral flash of how it would feel to close her hand around the cat's tiny neck and casually crush the life from it. She pulled away in horror and the cat gave a little mew of annoyance, then jumped down from the rock. 

Karen stared up at Elektra in horror. "Is this what you meant? I knew how it would felt to hurt that poor cat!"

"That's exactly what I meant. You can't swap life for life and expect no consequences." Her deep-set eyes gazed on Karen with a grim calm. "I only risked it because I think you are far stronger than any murdering husband or rapist father. You can turn their evil into something better."

Karen swallowed hard. "You're putting a lot of trust in an addict."

"Yes." Elektra reached out and put a calloused hand on Karen's shoulder, just for a moment, then she turned away. "I've left everything you need in the house. Leave the island when you're ready."

By the time Karen got up to look for her, she was gone, though Karen had no idea how or where. There was a cloth bundle on the table, and Karen unwrapped it to find passports with her photo in them, cash, cards, the keys to apartments in LA and London, an open date airline ticket, multiple identities ready to go. She sat down on the sandy floor, resting her head in her hands.

"Elektra? What do you want from me?" she called out, but quietly, expecting no response, and none came. 

After a while, she carefully got to her feet again and looked at the ticket. Athens, Greece to Sapporo, Japan. She'd never been there, though Matt had – dammit, she had to stop thinking about things in terms of them as a couple! She'd broken up with him for her new job before everything happened, and she knew perfectly well that if she returned to him, her life – her miraculous life – would immediately be part of his eternal drama. When she had been at her lowest, nearly dead, and betrayed him, even then it was focused on his life and his secrets. She'd had nothing of her own left, and she'd worked so, so hard to be a person again. She helped others, she worked hard, she made connections, she protested injustice, and then she'd found the radio job that allowed her to do all of those at once. That had been hers, just hers. And whatever Elektra said regarding the bad energy inside her, she was going to make that hers as well.

She gathered up the bundle Elektra had left her and walked slowly but steadily out the door and down the rocky slope to the tiny natural harbour. It was time to go.

*

Milla took the pills they gave her. It was one of the few parts of the day that she recognised. Morning and night, the pills. She hoped this was the morning, because if it was night, then everyone on the ward would be in bed and most of the staff would leave, and everything out there in the dark would take the chance to crowd in to torment her. It must be the morning, though, because Joanne with the warm hands was here, and taking her outside. 

"Let's get some sunlight!" Joanne said cheerfully, and unlike some of the attendants, she wasn't faking her emotions. Milla was good at hearing the tenor of voices: she knew who was afraid. Joanne was not afraid, and Milla wished she could understand how. 

With Joanna's help she sat in the wheelchair, and Joanna pushed her out to the garden, describing everything as they passed. 

"Through the ward doors and down the world's most boring corridor, here we go. That's better, now we're going past the day room and there's nice big windows looking over the garden."

"No windows?" Milla asked her, quietly. Things came in windows, she knew that. 

"Okay, Milla, I'll leave them out. We're going past the big mural. There's a plaque saying it's by some famous artist, but I think it's ugly as sin. Orange and purple blotches, what's that supposed to be?"

Milla let the corners of her mouth turn up, tentatively. Joanne didn't try to filter herself, and Milla trusted her more than anyone, anyone except Diego who had held her when she tried to claw off her own lips. 

"Down the ramp with the weird bumpy linoleum, here we go, and we're outside! Do you want to tour around the trees or the flowers?"

Milla shook her head, unable to decide which would be less bad, but Joanne wasn't troubled. 

"Okay, let's go with the flowers. They smell great, and if you walk around with the railing, there's plenty right there you can touch."

They took a right turn up the slight hill towards the flower garden, and Milla started to shiver, feeling the insects around her, touching her, stinging her, burrowing and tunnelling…

"Here's the railing! Come on, Milla!" Joanne's clear voice cut through the buzzing, and her hand lifting Milla's to the wooden railing pushed through the fog. It was the garden, that was all, the garden. The doctors had said that familiar surroundings and routine would help her, and maybe it was, maybe a little. She remembered the pills twice a day, every day, and that Joanne and Diego were good and safe.

Milla stood up, wobbly but determined, her palm comforted by the wood grain of the rail. She had done this yesterday, and some days before that. The concrete beneath her feet was smooth and the rail was steady. She could smell flowers, and lavender. With a hand on the rail to guide her, she walked forward. 

"Yeah, well done! That was so fast!" Joanne walked alongside her, describing the flowers, though she didn't know their proper names. That was okay. Milla didn't know most of them, either. After twenty-four steps, Milla started to smell something bad. 

"Joanne! Joanne, there's a dead body in there!" She could smell the stench of the intestines and the wretched smell of old blood, mingled with the sweet flowers and the dirt. 

"No, Milla, I think there's just a bit of fertiliser. Helps the plants grow. Did you ever have a garden in New York? On a balcony, maybe?"

Joanne was trying to walk Milla past it, but Milla was frozen on the spot. The body was there, she was sure. It must be hidden under the flowers so that Joanne couldn't see it, but Milla had never been sighted and relied on her other senses. 

"I can't! I can't go past it, Joanne!" She crouched down, one hand still holding the rail. "Somebody's dead and nobody cares! You won't help them!"

"I care." A different voice spoke, a woman at least twenty steps away, with a low, easily projected voice. She was standing on the path, not near the body.

"Then help me! Help them!" Milla cried out, scratching at her arm under her sleeve. She didn't understand why the world was this way, why nobody could see how horrible it was. 

"Who are you?" Joanna asked, gently prying Milla's clawing fingers away.

"I'm a friend of Milla's. I found out that she was living here and came to visit her."

"Please help!" Milla cried out again, but she let Joanne help her into the wheelchair. Her feet shuffled clumsily despite the smooth surface, and without Joanne's help she would have fallen. 

"There you go," Joanne said, sitting her down safely. Milla lifted her feet and Joanne unfolded the footrests into place. "You want to head inside?" She turned and spoke to the strange woman. "I don't think Milla's up to visitors at the moment, but if you wait at the reception centre she might be feeling better soon?"

Milla bowed her head in defeat. Nobody would listen to her.

"I'll come with you," the woman said. 

"Please, let her," Milla begged Joanne. She didn't understand why, but this woman didn't terrify her. It wasn't because she said she was a friend – she'd heard that before – but there was something about her that reminded Milla of Diego, someone who could hold her firmly and tell her it was all right. 

"Okay, come down and I'll talk to the nurse for you." Joanne herself wasn't a nurse, but they usually listened to her. 

Milla was much calmer by the time they got to the day room, despite the big windows that she tried not to remember. 

"What's your name?" she asked the woman quietly, while Joanne was over talking to the nurse.

"Karen. Nice to meet you."

"You said you were my friend, but I don't know you." Milla frowned, because she did feel as if they were friends. Maybe there was a Karen she'd forgotten. It was so hard to keep track of things, with the meds and the fear making her so, so tired. 

"No, not yet."

"Oh." Milla wasn't too surprised by that. She knew that she didn't understand time properly anymore. The concept of day and night had always been tenuous for her at best, completely disassociated from the light cues that sighted people had, but she had worked hard and lived the 9-to-5 life with some success. Here, though, it was only the two doses of pills that marked her days. 

Joanne approached them. "It's visiting hours, so the nurse said it's okay for you to talk with Milla, Karen." She turned to Milla. "I won't be far away. I'll keep an eye on you, okay?"

Milla smiled at her, grateful that she wouldn't be left entirely alone with mysterious Karen. "Thank you, Joanne."

Her brain kept telling her to be scared of Karen, but her voice was calming, more so that the medication. Karen breathed so smoothly, in control of the air around her; she didn't think Karen would be afraid. Though Milla's teeth were grinding together in a spasm of terror, she didn't call Joanne or try to get away. 

"I'm sorry you're so frightened," Karen said, her voice serene. Milla grasped that voice as best she could. 

"They said I was poisoned."

"Yes, by Mr Fear trying to attack Matt through you. The same guy had me arrested for a murder I didn't commit." Karen still spoke calmly, but Milla could hear the sleeping rage in her words. "So I've come to try to help you."

"How? They try and try here, but they can't – it won't stop."

"I might have a way to help, a way to change what Mr Fear did to you."

"Did he send you?" Milla's heart was going so fast she thought Karen must hear it as clearly as she did.

"No. But I wanted to talk to you before I go anywhere near him." 

"Good." Milla felt very comforted by Karen's directness. Like Joanne and Diego, Karen wasn't a liar. Milla pressed her lips together. They always felt dry, for some reason. She was sure that hadn't always been the case. "He tortured me."

"Yes, he did. Me too. He sent a corrupt cop after me, and I shot him. Turned out it was a set-up to try me for murder."

Milla tilted her head. "Are you Karen Page?"

"Yes! Thank God, I don't have to sneak around that any more." She laughed. 

"You dated Matt for a long time, and then you were murdered. Somebody brought you back to life? Ha. I should be amazed." 

"Yeah, someone did. I didn't get a choice in the matter, which is why I'm talking to you now. The same guy who messed with my life messed with yours, and I think I can help you."

"We don't matter, do we?" Milla clasped her hands and felt the shadow patches from the window frames darkening, leaning closer. 

Karen took Milla's hands in both of hers again. "I've lived without Matt longer than I lived with him. So have you. Does that not matter? He's centre stage in his own drama – they all are – and the costumed types attract each other for even bigger drama. That's why he keeps returning to Elektra. You've met Elektra?"

Milla nodded. "He keeps going back to you, too. I think…I think he never got over you. Or Elektra. She helped me, though. "

"Me too. But helping us isn't about us. It's all her, her and Matt. I don't say that to disparage her, but it's a kind of thinking that doesn't mix well with regular people."

"I had a job." Milla remembered it, and not really why she had given it up.

"Me too. I worked in radio, but I can't do that anymore."

Milla leaned forward, to speak more quietly. "I wouldn't have to stay here. I mean, I was declared criminally insane, but that's not forever. But I can't take your offer."

"Why not?" Karen seemed genuinely surprised. "You're suffering so much!"

"I killed someone. It was an accident, but I did it. If you can bring people back, you should save him, not me. I don't know who he was, and nobody will tell me now."

"Milla, it wasn't your fault."

"It was Mr Fear's fault. Yes. But I can't make him be sorry. Another man in the costume drama." She took a deep breath. "But I still acted on it and I pushed a man in front of a train. And I did mean to attack someone. Not him, and not to kill him – I had no idea we were so close to the platform's edge – but I did mean to hurt."

"Milla, nobody deserves to be punished with torture. If you want to take responsibility, you can't do it this way."

"I deserve this poison."

"I've felt it. I don't know how you've lasted this long, with that terror boiling inside you."

"Sometimes I can't last another minute. But I do. That man I killed, he can't do that." Milla doubled over, clutching her stomach. It felt like she'd been stabbed, the entire inside of her body writhing with pain. It hadn't been this bad in a long time, but she had to explain to Karen. "Mr Fear doesn't care. There's no-one else to be responsible."

"This isn't the only way!" Karen put her hands on Milla's shoulders, but Milla slapped them away. 

"Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Joanne! Joanne, help!" she screamed, as the windows shattered and flew at her, massive shards knifing into her body. 

She heard Karen running, and Joanne was at her side a few moments later. By then Milla was screaming, the terror overwhelming her. The shards had stabbed her in place and that was the only thing that stopped her flying off into the sky, into space, the endless void. Someone else came, and there was the sharp sting of an injection, and then everything went thankfully quiet. 

When Milla awoke, she was in her own bed, though the door was open and she could hear people moving around close by. 

"Joanne?" she asked.

"It's Diego. How're you feeling?" 

Milla relaxed a little. Diego wouldn't let anyone hurt her, not even herself. "My mouth is dry."

"Of course it is. Here, let me get you some water. You want to sit up?" 

She nodded, and he helped her, then put a pleasantly cool plastic tumbler in her hand. She sipped from it over and over, letting it dissolve the bad aftertaste of the medications. 

Diego was moving something paper. "Oh, Milla, I nearly forgot. Your friend dropped in this morning but you were still asleep, so she left a message for you. It's on a USB stick, you want me to load it onto your MP3 player?"

"Sure," Milla said, determinedly. Maybe it was the remnants of the medication keeping her calm, or maybe the memory of Karen's calm voice, but she felt prepared. 

"There you go." He put the player in Milla's right hand, and the earbuds in her left. "I've got to see some other patients, but I won't be far away if you call out, okay?"

"Okay."

She sat for a few moments, building up the courage to listen, but realised she was feeling something she hadn't felt in a long time: curiosity. She put in the earbuds and pressed Play.

"Hi, Milla. This is Karen again. Sorry about before. I didn't mean to cause you harm. It's your decision what you want to do. But I did want to explain a little better. 

"I don't think I can bring back the man that you accidentally killed. Elektra might be willing to do it, though. If you get out of here you could ask her. To resurrect someone you have to use the life of other people. It's easy for the process to go wrong; it's easy for the energies you took to harm the person you revived. I've got a lot meaner since Elektra revived me with the essences of some truly horrible people, despite doing a lot of training to try to overcome it. 

"Yeah, I've been training with a group called the Chaste. You've heard of the Hand, right? Evil ninjas? Well, the Chaste are the good ninjas, mostly. There's not so many of them, because they're into material poverty and celibacy, and vegetarianism. I really miss bacon! But I don't miss being angry all the time and wanting to hurt people. They want me to fight the Hand, but I won't. I wouldn't even learn their martial arts – Matt's old sensei was one of them, by the way – so I found a sensei who would teach me aikido instead. 'Concern for your attacker' is a major tenet. It sounds crazy, but refusing to harm anyone is the only way I can feel like myself. And I'm determined to use this gift of a new life to help others, not to hurt them. 

"So I was working in the kitchen with the other apprentices, when I heard the gossip: Matt Murdock had got married, and his wife had been driven insane by a supervillain named Mr Fear. The students who were chatting about it had no idea of my connection to Matt. He's a bit famous among the Chaste, you know, the one that got away."

Milla smiled at that. Matt always complained that everyone was gossiping about him, but he was always first to listen in, too.

Karen laughed, too. "Matt would appreciate that, I guess. So I was worried that we were expected to suddenly fly to New York and battle on Matt's behalf, but no. Life went on, and the image of Mr Fear wouldn't leave my mind. I told my sensei that I remembered what it was like to be influenced by his gas, and that it felt it was my duty to stop him hurting anyone else. That what happened to you made me feel that my fate had fallen on you instead."

Milla covered her mouth as she listened. She hadn't thought of it that way, that Bullseye or Mr Fear or Typhoid Mary saw her and Karen and anyone else Matt dated as entirely interchangeable woman-shaped targets for their attacks. She had paused Karen's message to try to catch her breath, but realised that her breathing was slower and more even when she was breathing along with Karen on the file, rather than on her own. 

"You okay?" Diego asked from the doorway. 

"Yes, thank you," Milla replied, not wanting him to take her MP3 player away. She pressed Play again.

"So I caught the bus to Sapporo, and it was really strange being out in the world again. So chaotic. I was in New York two days later to track down Mr Fear, aka Larry Cranston. He had changed, changed a lot. When he tried to have me jailed for murder, he was an angry man intent on demonstrating his power, but incredibly touchy and vain, easily baited. The money Elektra left me was very handy for bribing people, so I got hold of prison security footage, and it showed someone completely different. Cranston was entirely confident, despite being in prison: the prisoners and guards alike let him do pretty much what he wanted. It was weird. Nobody in his cell block was aggressive or starting fights, or being loud. The guards let Cranston and his immediate lackeys go wherever they wanted in the block. They installed a big TV and brought him a computer with internet access, and books on request. The only inmates who had had problems with this new regime seemed to be a couple of mentally ill men who should never have been in gen pop, but that's the prison system for you.

"Those poor guys were obviously terrified of Cranston and avoided him at all costs, but they couldn't manage to regulate their behaviour enough for him. One literally crapped his pants every time he saw Cranston; the others tried to get away from him but they couldn't stop themselves calling out or stimming or self-harming. They were quickly moved to other units and replaced with men more able to obey. And despite the new order and reduced violence between inmates and guards, incidents of attempted suicide and self-harm were increasing drastically. 

"I thought it had to be mind control – especially in the case of the female guard sleeping with Cranston – except that there didn't seem to be any evidence of direct commands, and sometimes people did things he didn't want. It was more like…people were trying to please him. People who should not be calm and accepting were; a woman who shouldn't be sexually attracted was; everything was wrong. Cranston was helping them out with legal issues, too: the female guard he was sleeping with was also receiving his legal help in a custody dispute. At first I had no idea why Cranston would bother to give actually good advice, even for the sake of professional pride, but then I realised that Cranston was enjoying himself in prison. And he could have had the guards walk him out any time he wanted. This was a big problem for me, because I had nothing to threaten him with, and he believed there was no antidote to the advanced fear gas he used on you. Worse, he'd admitted to murdering the chemist who helped him improve the formula."

Hearing all this was too much for Milla, and she pulled the ear buds out, switching Karen's voice off entirely. She didn't return to it for a few hours, until after meds, another unit of time safely ticked off. Diego made sure she ate, but he left at the end of that shift, leaving her without allies. Milla waited and waited until she'd greeted Joanne in the daytime. Hearing Joanne was nearby subdued the trembling in her hands, and she picked up her MP3 player again, waiting for Karen's voice. 

Karen on the file had not had time off, of course, but it jolted Milla that she was still talking about Mr Fear. Fortunately, she soon changed topics to the C.O. who was sleeping with him. 

"So I decided to start with C.O. Jennifer Markham, the guard who was sleeping with Cranston. She worked a four days on, four days off schedule, so I went to see her when she was furthest from Cranston's influence. Markham was a divorced mother of two, previously married to a cop, and Cranston's legal assistance was helping her a great deal. If Cranston hadn't been an inmate, I would have simply put it down to transactional sex. I'd done it at certain times in my life, and I wouldn't have blamed Markham for that. But Markham was otherwise a decent corrections officer – I've been in jail, I can tell the difference – and there was no way, under normal circumstances, that she would have sex with an inmate, let alone repeatedly. So I headed out to her apartment to observe her, but she was outside, down at street level, smoking and crying. And, this is hard to explain, but in the Chaste we learn how to see chi, people's life force. Markham's was polluted as hell with something else.

"I asked her if she was okay, and we chatted about how hard it was to quit smoking when you're stressed. Markham's file had described her as tough and unemotional, so I was surprised when she started crying. I mean, really sobbing. Unravelling in front of me. I gave her a pack of tissues and my water bottle, which helped a bit. And then I let her talk. I used to work a drug support hotline and then late-night talkback radio, and they both taught me the value of shutting up sometimes. 

"She wasn't happy to be sleeping with Cranston, although she didn't 100% admit that that's why she was so upset. She was terrified, and she could not comprehend why she kept going there. She couldn't break out of the pattern, even after four days off. The constant terror had really fucked her up. So much that she told me she couldn't manage to fill out an application to transfer because her hands would shake too much."

Milla knew how that felt, and tucked her own hands into her armpits to keep them still as she listened. 

"Luckily, the form was online, so we filled it out together, on Markham's phone. She was worried about losing the legal advice, but I gave her some numbers of places that would help. Matt and I used to run a drop-in centre to help that way." Karen laughed, quietly. "Vigilantes have a place, but kicking butts is only part of the equation! I tried to help cleanse her chi a little, but without time and physical contact, there was only so much I could do.

"It didn't matter, though, because Markham transferred out. Her replacement was a man, and Cranston wasn't interested in him, but no more women came in. Whatever Cranston was doing had to rely on proximity, but that didn't explain how his effect lasted on you, or made you do things far away from him. My other lead was the chemist who had worked with Cranston and been murdered by him, Dr Dante Govich. Cranston claimed in his police interview to have deleted the information Govich had given him, but I seriously doubted it. The guy was such a packrat that he wrote down his plan to destroy my life; no way had he destroyed notes on his new and improved powers.

"I spoke to Govich's parents pretending to be a reporter, but I had no luck with them, so I moved on to tracking down every person who visited Cranston in prison, and eventually got onto, of all people, his ghost writer. Yes, that arrogant shit was writing an autobiography. I was particularly looking forward to the chapters on how he coerced me into killing someone, repeatedly raped C.O. Markham, and deliberately damaged your mind, simply to get back at someone who was a better law student than him. Pathetic, right? Around now I was starting to wonder if Elektra was right that some people didn't deserve to live, and it's been very hard to get that out of my mind. Don't worry, Milla, I didn't kill Cranston."

Milla felt a drift of disappointment, then shook her head. It wouldn't make any real difference to her if Karen had, but deep inside was the primitive urge to strike out at what had hurt her, slap and shove and scream. And look what that urge had done: she'd killed a man while trying to hurt Lily Lucca, who was herself an agent of Mr Fear. She'd heard enough stories from her time working for the housing agency to know that the violence was never one-directional. It was always a spiral, pulling more and more innocent people into its vortex. She switched off the recording again, though she noticed that her hands were shaking far less than they had in a long time. Was it Karen's voice that was helping, or Karen's mission? Milla couldn't choose, but she knew she was sleepy. Actually sleepy, not just exhausted. 

The recording was nearly finished, but Milla had slept before playing the last of it, woken by Diego, bringing her pills. It must be night, as the TV she could distantly hear from the day room was playing some cop drama rather than a morning show. 

"Do you want to head down to the day room?" he asked her.

"No, thank you, I'm fine here. The TV is too noisy for me if I'm in the day room."

"Oh, yeah, sensitive hearing, right?" Diego still left the door open when he departed. 

Milla put in the ear buds, but turned the MP3 player over and over in her hands. She felt almost sad finishing the recording, as if she was saying goodbye to a friend. Some of that was feeling safer in her room than anywhere else, but she knew they wouldn't let her stay isolated much longer anyway. She took a deep breath and pressed play. 

"So the good thing about a ghost writer is that he needs access to Cranston's personal papers. Cranston was helpfully telling this poor ghost writer that everything in the public record, apart from direct quotes, was wrong. How to find the right information? Well, Cranston earned his way as a law professor at Empire State, and it turns out that donating your papers is a thing professors do. The college hadn't really been through them yet, probably because of the whole criminal issue, but our ghost writer friend found exactly where they were in the archives, and it was not just academic papers. It was his planning and scheming. Gold for a researcher, and better for us!

"I have a few contacts with a science background, so I was super excited to get to these papers. I was sure that I was going to find poor Dr Govich's notes in there, and even if Cranston didn't understand how to turn them into a cure, someone with actual chemistry expertise would. Then I actually got to the notes, and he'd only kept what he himself had written. It was just demented ramblings on how Cranston was going to get every single person who had ever slighted him. He had a list! A very long list! You can guess who was at the top of it. 

"So all that effort, and there was nothing left of Dr Govich's work. I have another thing I want to try, something that I think can really work. I thought very hard about how the fear power works and I came to an obvious conclusion: it doesn't work on Cranston himself. Why is that? I guess I assumed that he's around it all the time so he developed an immunity, but you were exposed for a long time too, and it made you very sick. So it must be something inherent to him. 

"I have learned how the Chaste ritual works, how they transfer energy from one person to another to give them life, and I'm sure I can perform it on Cranston. Not to take his life – I doubt I have the strength for that anyway – but to separate out this power he has taken into himself. It gives him immunity from his own powers, and I think it can do the same for you.

"Whether or not you decide to accept it, I'm going to get that part of his essence. Even if you say no, taking that power away from him is a good thing for everyone in his vicinity. But, Milla, if I fail, I might fall under his control. I wanted to leave you this message so you know you're not abandoned, so you know I didn't forget you. I'm sorry my fate fell to you, and I promise I'm doing all I can to take it back."

The recording ended and Milla clutched the MP3 player tightly, her connection to Karen. Should she tell someone? Could she tell someone? Nobody would believe her, she was sure, even with the recording. It didn't take very long being around superheroes to start to adjust to their way of thinking, but to someone who hadn't had that experience, it sounded crazy. And here she was in the loony bin, to make it seem more bizarre. She took a deep breath. Maybe Diego or Joanne would at least listen to the recording. She had to try. Maybe they would be able to stop Karen sacrificing herself for Milla, because Milla was pretty sure that Mr Fear would never let Karen go. 

"Diego!" she tried to call out, recalling that it was night, but her throat stuck together with terror. "Diego!" she tried again, but her voice was a parched whisper. She reached to the side and found her plastic tumbler of water. She drank, then, before she could think too hard, pushed her blanket aside and got out of bed, orienting herself towards the door. Her legs were wobbly with lack of exercise, but she made it to standing, then, with her hand running along the side of the bed, walked slowly towards the door. Milla's head was spinning in panic, but she forced herself onwards, leaning into the void between the bed and the door. 

"Diego!" she called out at the end of the bed, then let go and took the last, unsupported steps to the open door, feeling the vortex spinning above her. "Diego, help me!" 

"Milla!" 

She heard his voice and his approaching footsteps and almost collapsed in relief. The doorframe held her up; she had to stay up so that Diego would listen to the recording instead of having to look after her.

"Milla, are you okay? You're out here by yourself. What's wrong?" His warm hand was at her elbow, but she didn't let herself relax. 

"Please. My friend is in danger. Please listen." She shoved the MP3 player into his hands, then slid to the ground. "Please help her."

*

Rikers Island didn't allow visitors every day, so Karen had meditated and waited for her turn. She was as prepared as she possibly could be, considering that Mr Fear's effect seemed to be more insidious but less acute than when she had last tangled with him. She had no concerns that he would refuse to see her: the name "Karen Page" would arouse his curiosity if nothing else. She just had to hope that nobody else remembered the name and denied her entry for using the name of a dead woman.

Fortunately, the security staff only cared that she passed the security check and had valid ID, and she was ushered into the concrete pen of the waiting area along with every other visitor. She didn't have to wait long. 

"Page? Page, Karen visiting Cranston, Larry?" a guard with a clipboard called out, and Karen composed herself and approached him.

"That's me." 

"This way, ma'am." The guard led her down a hallway past the rooms with the plexiglass and the phones that Karen remembered from her time here – apparently it was identical in the men's prison – to a separate room at the end of the hall. 

"What's this room for?" Karen asked. 

The guard wouldn't meet her eyes when he replied, "Mr Cranston sees his visitors here." 

Karen didn't push him any further – he had obviously been exposed to Cranston's toxic presence – but entered the small concrete room. It had a table and chairs, a comfortable armchair in a corner, electrical sockets, and a small filing cabinet. There was a large poster from the Met, the Goya painting "Saturn Devouring His Son", and the wild eyes of Saturn seemed to follow her. Karen was starting to doubt the strength of her Chaste training if a mere poster could unnerve her, but she sat down by the table and breathed slowly, recovering her strength and clarity. Cranston having his private visiting room – for the benefit of his lawyers and ghost writer, she presumed – would only work to her advantage. Everyone contained within themselves their own nemesis, she had learned, and vanity was Cranston's. 

She waited peacefully until she heard the other door, the one on the inmates' side, start to open, then she stood politely as Cranston entered the room. 

He was starting to bald, now, but he was much physically fitter than she had previously seen him, and a great deal more confident in his movements. He was still shocked to see Karen, though he tried to hide it.

"Miss Page. How strange to see you here. I thought someone must be luring me with your name."

"No, it was all me. Please, sit down. Let's talk." Karen was making the territory her own, though the advantage should belong to Cranston here.

He sat, not taking his eyes off her, and smirked. "So, did you never really die? Doesn't seem like Murdock to fake that."

Karen smiled, conspiratorial. "He doesn't know. As far as he's concerned, I'm dead." She breathed slowly and deeply, trying to understand Cranston's abilities, where the power started and the man ended. So far she felt nothing.

"All this time! You little minx." He reached over the table to take Karen's hand, but she moved it out of his grasp. He was very much not used to people refusing him these days, and a deep frown briefly cut through his genial mask. "You must have been far away for him not to find any trace of you. So why are you here?"

With a sinking heart, Karen realised that she couldn't perceive the fear power as separate from Cranston's soul itself. She was going to have to lure Cranston into using his power, and that truly scared her. "I came to see you, Larry. But I'm starting to think that was a mistake."

He leaned back in his chair, entirely comfortable and in control again. "Hey, or maybe I could ask you to stay."

"Why would I want to do that?" Karen prepared herself for that wave of helpless panic. "I think I'm going to go."

Cranston breathed out and Karen smelled a slight acrid tint to the air. Her heart rate sped up, just a little. 

"It won't hurt to stay and chat to an old friend, will it?" He smiled, and now there was something behind his words. "Stay. There's a distinct lack of novelty in my life at the moment."

Karen ran a hand through her short hair and sat down again. It was much more comfortable to do what he wanted, and Karen recognised the feeling; it was when she'd wanted to stop using, and she really planned to, but pain awaited her if she did. It'd be just one more hit, then she'd stop tomorrow. It wasn't really giving up, she would have told herself, except that she knew it was. She had a strong urge to leap over the table and strangle Cranston, but that's not why she was here. Cranston was starting to use his power, frustrated by Karen's recalcitrance, and that gave Karen a chance to separate him from it.

"Larry, why do you stay here in prison? You could easily walk out. We both know it."

"Karen – I'm going to call you Karen – you're completely right. I don't have to stay. But why would I want to leave my own personal kingdom? They wanted to transfer me to Albany once the sentence was in, but I discouraged that and thus I'm living for free in the heart of New York City. Isn't that great? I'm writing my autobiography, practicing law even though those fools took my licence, I've got a private army of servants, and I'm building a nice little nest egg for when I do decide to leave." He leaned forward, closing the distance between them. "There's a lot of people here with a lot of money, who are very interested in what I can bring to them."

"So you're a hired thug, is that it? That's not who I remember," Karen snapped. 

Cranston's mask dropped entirely as he jumped to his feet. "No! You remember the man who had to rely on props to shape you to his will! I'm far beyond that, now! I no longer wield fear. I am fear itself!" 

This time, Karen felt his power directly. She had planned to feign being affected, but in fact it took all her strength to hold her chi strong and let the panic wash through her instead of clinging and changing her. She could not ask her body to pretend to be afraid when she was so hard-put to battle the real thing. 

"You're fighting me, Karen," he laughed. "You're the strongest I've seen, but everyone feels fear. You're here on some kind of ridiculous mission, I'm guessing, so what happens when you fail?"

The wash of terror intensified, and Karen felt it pooling in her body, undoing her joints, weakening her limbs, speeding her heart. 

"Stop this!" she cried out, not sure whether she was playing a part to fool Cranston, or if her terror was entirely real.

"I wonder if you had anything to do with C.O. Markham transferring out? I'm missing her visits. Maybe you'll do as a replacement? You're much prettier, that's for sure."

Karen knew that voice, the voice of a thousand men calling her pretty, making her feeble with drugs and drink, tearing her body apart for their pleasure, praising her passivity and weakness. Cranston's artificial terror was nothing compared to her own capacity for destruction, nothing compared to her ability to live though it. 

"No," she said, quietly, opening her balled-up fists, although the attack intensified.

"You don't get to say that to me," he hissed. 

"No," she said again, deliberately. She was starting to hallucinate, dark shadows rushing at her from the corners of the room, Cranston's face distorting into the mask he used to wear, a black cloak billowing above him. She stood still and let them pass. 

Cranston shoved the table aside. "You will fear me!" He grabbed her by the upper arms, and she desperately wanted to break his hold, but this is what she had come for. She reached forward, only able to move her arms from the elbow down, and put one palm flat on Cranston's chest, feeling the energies swirl messily through him. 

He was roughly shaking her, shouting something she didn't bother to comprehend, but she remained still in his grip, letting that pass over her, water over stone. She put her other hand on his chest, so that his energy flowed through her as well, a closed circuit, as the Chaste had shown her. Her encounter with Jennifer Markham meant that she could see his poison immediately, the difference being that it was bonded with him, bubbling up from within. It flowed through him as his chi did, a polluted river that spilled its banks to drown those who passed by. 

She didn't want to draw the power into herself, but she had nowhere else to put it, so with a quick slicing gesture across Cranston's chest, she severed the poison's link to his chi, then pulled it out of him a long, slimy string. It didn't resist, flowing eagerly into Karen's cleaner soul. She knew immediately that it was too much for her, and she immediately felt sick to her stomach, that feeling when she was coming down again. She began to sweat as her guts roiled. 

Karen had somehow expected Cranston to collapse, or explode, or something drastic at this point, but Cranston was so engaged with his physical attack that he didn't notice what had been done to him. Breathing shortly and sharply to control the nausea, she twisted to the right to break the hold of his weaker hand, then kept twisting, pulling him off balance via his grip on her bicep. When she stuck her leg between his at ankle height, his own weight tripped him and carried him to the ground. 

He didn't let go, though, and Karen was dragged down on top of him, the force she could muster not enough to entirely free herself from the much larger man. Karen's training wasn't complete, and Cranston was strong and skilled enough that he had been able to at least briefly hold off Matt, long before the power had been part of him. She swung her arm to break his grip, but in close quarters she couldn't get enough momentum behind it, and he shoved her to the concrete floor as he clambered to his feet, realisation creeping over his face. 

"You little bitch, what did you do?" he shouted, and Karen scrambled behind the table. He pushed it at her, and she dodged, but there wasn't much space to move here. He caught her arm and slammed her face first into the wall. 

"Give it back!" he shouted in her ear. "Give it back!" 

"Never," she muttered through a mouthful of blood.

Cranston moved quickly, throwing an arm around Karen's throat and dragging her with him through the door into the prison. Karen's head was swimming from the impact with the wall and she couldn't get her feet under her. She knew from speaking to the guard and the ghost writer than the fear effect didn't wear off quickly. Cranston was taking her to the part of the prison where everyone would obey him, and from there he would probably force them to let him out of prison. If she didn't get herself together she was almost certainly going to die, and, worse, let Cranston out into the world again. Even if he didn't have his power anymore, he could do plenty of damage. 

"Hey, boss," a prisoner said to him. "Who's the chick?"

"Don't worry about that. Find the deputy warden. Bring him here."

"Gotcha, boss." 

The short delay had given Karen time to get her feet firmly on the ground, and despite her physical ills, felt remarkably clear of purpose. What had been poison in Cranston was changing into power in Karen, energy and light. His power must have been working on her at some level, but since she had taken it from him, she was free of his influence. She desperately hoped it would do the same for Milla. 

Cranston's arm was forcing her head backwards, so she couldn't bite him, but he was wearing expensive, soft leather loafers while she had boots with a slight heel. She stomped on his foot with all the strength she could muster, and he screamed, automatically releasing Karen. He grabbed for her head as she ducked free of his grasp, but her hair was short these days, too short for anyone to control her that way. He cursed and lunged at her on the ground, so she rolled with his momentum, took hold of his arms and threw him. He landed flat on his back on the floor with a mighty thump. 

"Get her!" he wheezed. Karen glanced up to realise she'd been too focused on Cranston: four more inmates had appeared in the doorway and they were advancing on her. There was no way she could fight four men, so she retreated behind Cranston's supine form. They'd have to slow their advances so as not to step on him, and maybe she'd get lucky fighting two-on-one. She had to stop Cranston's escape: any delay would help. She knew it wasn't going to be enough, though. C.O. Markham had still been affected after four days, and Karen wouldn't be able to hold out until these men were no longer under his influence. 

"Police! Freeze! Get on the ground!" a voice bellowed from the end of the corridor, and Karen froze in confusion. So did the inmates and Cranston. 

A SWAT team, complete with goggles and breathing apparatus, raced into the hall, clubbing down the inmates in an effort to get to Cranston as fast as they could. 

Before Cranston could speak, one of the SWAT team sprayed him with hot pink foam which rapidly set in place. 

"Hostile super restrained. Recommend secured path to the Raft," the leader said, while other team members pinned the inmates and checked that the foam let Cranston breathe. 

"Sorry, ma'am, I think we got your shoe," the leader said to her, and passed her a full-face gas mask, which she obediently donned. He pressed the seal around her face. "You good there?"

"Yes, but, who are you? What happened?" 

The SWAT leader tried to crack the foam around Karen's foot, then gave up and signalled another officer to come and spray a dissolving solution on it. The rest of them had freed Cranston from the floor – though they left the hardened foam in place to restrain him – and thrown him into a high-tech casket, wheeling it away as it beeped. 

"There you go. Come with me, please. We got a call that there was an unidentified super here in the general section of Rikers, who should have been in the Raft. That's where he's headed."

"But, how was he not identified?" Karen asked, her voice muffled by the gas mask. "And why now?"

"This Mr Fear guy? The intel said he needed special chemicals to do his thing, and he sure didn't have any of those. But once we got the tip-off, it didn't take long to see something was really wrong here."

They went through another door and Karen could see many more cops and prison guards, outfitted with gasmasks, hurrying prisoners into lockdown. 

"Who tipped you off?"

"One of the secure mental health facilities. Staff said they had a patient who'd been a victim of his, and she'd got lucid enough to tell them how it wasn't a gas, it was the guy himself. No idea why he was left in gen pop. You don't need to worry, ma'am, he won't be getting out of the Raft."

He handed her over to another SWAT officer, who walked her out to medical attention, where Karen could finally take a breath. Her throat hurt, and her face where she'd been thrown into the concrete, but she'd succeeded. Mr Fear was disarmed, and she had his essence, his immunity to his own powers, to help Milla, if only she would accept it. 

The next day, she returned to see Milla. 

"What happened?" Milla asked, sitting in an armchair in the day room."Your voice doesn't sound right."

Karen touched her bruised throat, self-conscious. "Well, some great plan I had. I took his powers, but it didn't stop him hurting me."

"Are you all right?"

"I will be. It's just a few cuts and bruises. If the SWAT team hadn't arrived, he would have escaped, and I'd be dead."

"I made Diego listen to your message. He called the hotline."

"You saved my life."

Milla smiled. "I did, didn't I? Well, with help from Diego. Listen, what I said to you before, that I didn't want anything to do with a cure? I think that was wrong."

"I agree! You shouldn't suffer like this."

"Not like this, no. I need to face up to what happened, how happy I was to have someone to blame Matt's distance on, someone who wasn't Matt, or you. And I can't do that while I'm hallucinating and screaming and too afraid to move. Cure this poison, Karen, so I can be Milla Donovan again, good or bad or both."

"Okay. It's inside me right now, but it's changing itself, changing me. I can't predict what it's going to do."

"It's better than rotting away," Milla replied, her jaw set, though her hands trembled. "Anything is better than this."

Karen sighed. "May I kiss you?"

Milla tilted her head up, and Karen pressed bruised and cut lips against hers. At the contact, Karen could see how the poison had already damaged Milla's chi, leaving it depressed and sluggish. The energy Karen carried recognised Milla's, and as Karen breathed out slowly it slid from deep within Karen to lodge in Milla.

Milla must have felt it, because she gasped and broke away. 

Karen stayed in contact, holding Milla's hands instead. "You need to merge it with your being. Let it protect you." She could see it spreading throughout Milla's body, circulating as a thin thread of brightness, starting to restore the vitality and reason that had been stolen from her. 

"It feels cold," Milla said, slowly. "Cold and very sad, like when you're a child and you've cried so hard your body won't work anymore, and you just shiver." She took a deep, shaky breath. "But the crying is over, and it's a new day." 

Milla pulled Karen forward, and they ended up both sitting in the big chair, hugging. 

"Would you visit me, Karen? I don't know who I am anymore. I haven't known for a while, and I need to work that out to make up for what I've done."

"I still say it wasn't your fault, but of course I will. I think I've been hiding, too," Karen told her. "I just managed to disguise it with work."

They stayed together in the embrace of the armchair, still as sunwarmed stone, drawing strength for the long day ahead.


End file.
